For My Country, From My Soul
by L J Groundwater
Summary: A plan to use an unwitting member of the Gestapo for Allied purposes gets a little too close to Hogan's operation. Please read and review. Thanks.
1. Chapter 1

No ownership of the _Hogan's Heroes_ characters is implied or inferred. Copyright belongs to others and no infringement is intended.

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The old man's eyes sparkled as he laughed at his visitor's amusing anecdote. "You are nothing but an old rogue." His smile widened as he held up the half-empty bottle. "Another glass of wine, my friend."

"No, Friedrich. No. These indulgences are too much for a man like me."

Friedrich laughed and lowered the bottle back on to the small table beside his comfortable chair. "You are foolish, Dieter. Didn't anyone ever tell you that an old man is entitled to his indulgences?"

"Oh, perhaps some are, Friedrich. But not me." Dieter looked at his companion thoughtfully. "My superiors will be expecting a report tomorrow."

"Young renegades who do not understand how _real _work gets done," Friedrich amended. "Everything is not guns and loud voices." He shook his head. "It is just amazing that our so-called inter-departmental meetings passed the short-sighted inspection of those supposedly in charge."

Dieter nodded. "Whatever finishes this war faster," he said. "There are no glorious wars, Friedrich... only glorious moments within them."

"Paperwork. How glorious is that?" Friedrich remarked. Dieter shrugged and glanced back at the papers on the dinner table. "All right, Dieter. I can see you are anxious to finish. At least this we can do in the comfort of my humble home. I shall go back to work. The last on our list is Stalag 13."

Dieter snorted. "Stalag 13," he repeated. "A prison camp. Not a very interesting place, surely."

"Not to me," agreed Friedrich. "But to a Major... Hochstetter," he said, scanning the paperwork, "it's a virtual hotbed of subversive activity."

"This Hochstetter—he is one of yours?"

"Looking at his record, I'd like to say he's _Abwehr_... but I can see no trace of _intelligence_ there." Friedrich laughed. "He certainly is _persistent_, though. He's been wasting our resources on that place for months. He insists Stalag 13 is at the center of a plot to throw the war in favor of the Allies."

"A plot? The _Abwehr_ has no such reports," Dieter said. "I understand it's actually quite secure. We spend little time worrying about prison camps that have perfect no-escape records! Anyone who would want to throw the war in favor of the Allies certainly hasn't gotten out of _there_. And if the Kommandant of the camp is anti-German, then he certainly has a terrible way of showing it."

"Once again, we agree, my friend," Friedrich said with a smile. "But every group has its fanatics; Hochstetter is simply one of ours."

"I hope I never meet his _Abwehr_ counterpart," Dieter remarked. "The young officers I know now—they are bad enough. What is on the Stalag 13 report this week?"

"Nothing specific; just a memorandum from Major Hochstetter that it will remain under surveillance for suspicious activities."

"Very well. I will discuss it with Major Teppel tomorrow; we will get involved if you wish."

Friedrich snorted good-naturedly. "Don't bother, Dieter—this Hochstetter insists he has it all under control."

"Should you not perhaps remove him and replace him with someone else who is not so... obsessed with the improbable?" Dieter asked. "It seems a great waste of resources, and someone else could probably see the facts for what they are and be out of there in no time."

"I have tried... and failed," Friedrich declared. "But I will note that _Abwehr_ is willing to do its part to bring this fiasco to a swift end. Not in those words, of course," he added with a chuckle. "One cannot be _blunt_ with this regime."

"No. One certainly cannot." Dieter stood up and stretched his back carefully. Then he moved closer to the fire and intently watched the embers glowing in the flames.

Friedrich watched his friend with a concerned frown. "Your limp, it is very pronounced tonight, Dieter."

"It is nothing but the damp weather," Dieter said dismissively. "It passes, my friend."

"One day you will tell me how that hip came to be so faulty."

Dieter laughed softly. "I have told you before: it is just an old war wound, Friedrich. There is no exciting story, I'm afraid."

"It is another one of your secrets, you mean." Friedrich smiled gently, amused by his friend. "You do not fool me, Dieter. You are much more _exciting_ than you let on. Some day I will know as much about you as you know about me!"

Dieter laughed. "And on that day, one of us shall be _dead_!" His own smile faltered slightly, then he turned away from the fire. "Come, let us have more wine. We have worked hard tonight. Perhaps it is not wrong for me to indulge after all."

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"Trouble in paradise," Peter Newkirk observed, as he watched a shiny black German staff car speed through the gates and into Stalag 13. He flicked the ashes off the end of his cigarette, his eyes following the car to where it stopped just outside the Kommandant's office. He frowned as someone he recognized got out. "We'd better tell Colonel 'Ogan," he murmured.

"I'll find him." Sergeant Andrew Carter pulled away from the wall of Barracks Two. He turned to head inside the hut but didn't even have a chance to open the door when he nearly ran into their commanding officer.

"We've got company," Robert Hogan commented. His eyes narrowed as he tracked the visitor.

"Yeah; Major Hochstetter," Carter confirmed. "Talk about unwanted guests."

Hogan nodded absently, still watching as the Gestapo officer clearly dressed down a camp prison guard and then pushed past him and up the stairs to see Colonel Klink.

"We'd better put the coffee on," Hogan said, heading back inside, and followed quickly by Carter and Newkirk; "it's only polite, after all."

The trio moved into Hogan's office, and the Colonel pulled a coffee pot from underneath his desk. In a few short moves, the appliance was set up for its real purpose: to eavesdrop on everything happening in Klink's office.

"Newkirk, get some crumpets, will you, old boy?" Hogan suggested dryly.

"Right away, sir," the Englishman answered. He put a finger to his lips to quiet Louis Le Beau and James Kinchloe as they came into the room to see what was going on.

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Wilhelm Klink was pushing endless paperwork around his desk when he heard shuffling feet outside his office followed by a hasty knock, and suddenly his secretary, Helga was standing tensely in the doorway, her shoulders hunched up as though she was trying to make herself as small as possible. "Kommandant, Major Hochstetter is here to see you." Almost before the words escaped her lips, the Major pushed his way past the pretty blonde and into the room. Helga hugged the door to avoid the virtual whirlwind that his entrance created.

Klink stood up immediately. "Major Hochstetter, this is an unexpected—"

"Klink, shut up and sit down. The Gestapo is taking over Stalag 13."

Always flabbergasted by Wolfgang Hochstetter's abruptness and complete lack of manners, Klink did as he was told. "What?" he managed, disconcerted by the small man's rudeness.

"Last week, the Gestapo raided a transmitting station near Hammelburg and confiscated a large number of coded messages that are still being deciphered. The transmissions originated in _this area_, Klink."

"And?" Klink asked wearily.

"_And_ one of those messages made reference to a long-term plan to destroy the Gestapo."

"By whom?" Klink asked in wonderment. "How could they _do_ that?"

But the Major just ignored him and continued. "We very nearly had them when we decoded the first message, Klink—that shows how amateur they are. We headed straight to the meeting place that we determined the transmission was referring to."

"And did you track down this meeting?" Klink asked, only the tiniest bit of sarcasm daring to slip into his voice. He hated when Hochstetter made every part of the Gestapo's war Stalag 13's personal problem.

"Yes."

"And what did you find?"

Hochstetter scowled. "Two old men and their wives playing pinochle." His tightened fist curled even smaller. "But that does not matter, Klink," he rebounded. "What matters is that the Underground is actively plotting against the Gestapo, and I will not rest until they are stopped. Where is Colonel Hogan?"

Klink blinked himself into what he hoped passed for control. "Colonel Hogan is somewhere in this camp, Major."

"'Somewhere in this camp'?" Hochstetter repeated in disbelief. "Klink, do you not know where your prisoners are?"

"I have _guards_, Major Hochstetter. I do not have to know exactly where in this camp every prisoner is every second of the day. The men are allowed to roam Stalag 13 within certain boundaries during daylight hours unless they are being disciplined, which they are not at this time, and I am certain that _Colonel Hogan_ is among them."

"_I_ am not so certain, Klink," Hochstetter countered. "I have good reason to believe that Hogan spends quite a lot of time 'roaming,' as you put it, but not in this camp."

Klink physically restrained the sigh that was threatening to come out. _Not again._ "Major Hochstetter, we have been all through this—"

"And we shall go through it again, Klink: Colonel Hogan—"

Back in his office, Hogan's men recited the oft-used phrase along with Hochstetter: "—is the most dangerous man in all of Germany."

Hogan scowled, not at his men's actions, but at what Hochstetter's presence was doing to his operation. He simmered while Hochstetter outlined his plans.

"Stalag 13 is going to be my command post, Klink. I shall stay here with some of my men, working on deciphering the information we have gathered to try and pin down a definitive identification of these subversives. A radio detection truck will be here in about an hour. And I am going to keep a close eye on Colonel Hogan and the rest of your _compliant_ prisoners. There will be extra patrols just outside the camp, and I might even ask your own guards to do some work for a change. Order a roll call, Klink; I want to know we are starting with everyone, so I can be as certain as you are."

Hogan unplugged the coffee pot and let out a frustrated sigh. "Well, that sounds pretty ominous," Kinch observed as he put the pot away. "What do we do, Colonel?"

Hogan pursed his lips. "Kinch, get on the horn; cancel my outing for the night. Then make sure the Underground knows to lie low for awhile—no radio transmissions to camp until _we _say so. Carter, Le Beau—tonight's out. You'll have to investigate that new munitions depot another time. We're not gonna take any chances outside the wire while Hochstetter's so gung-ho. I'll have to see what I can do to take the wind out of his sails."

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"I didn't see you come into camp, Major," Hogan said, approaching Hochstetter as the Gestapo officer headed for his car.

Hochstetter stopped only briefly to sneer in the American's direction. "I didn't think it was important to check in with you when I got here," he said.

"I just wanted to say hello," Hogan pressed. "I mean, we haven't seen you around here lately. You've been a bit of a stranger."

Hochstetter's eyes narrowed. "I see. And this concerns you."

Hogan nodded sincerely. "Oh, sure it does, Major. Why, when you come into camp, all of a sudden my men stand taller, straighter. They pay more attention to themselves and their behavior. It's inspiring, Major, just inspiring."

"And why would they do that for _me_?" Hochstetter asked, suspicious.

Hogan tried to look surprised. "Why, respect for the uniform, Major!" he said. "You're always so nicely turned out—just look at the shine on those boots." Hogan smiled appreciatively, then added eagerly, "Heading out for a special lunch, maybe? Meeting some of the big boys from Berlin?"

Hochstetter growled. "Don't be ridiculous, Hogan. If you must know, I'm out here to set up Stalag 13 as my base of operations."

"Base of operations? Is something exciting going on, Major?"

"Someone is trying to attack the Gestapo."

"And you've come out here to make sure you're out of the line of fire?" Hogan nodded approvingly. "That's a smart move, Major. You don't want to get caught in the crossfire. Mind you, to _some_, that could smack of cowardice. But _I'd_ never say that, no, sir."

"_Bah!_" Hochstetter burst. "Hogan, get out of my way. I have things to do and no time to talk to you."

"Sorry, Major," Hogan said apologetically. "If I can be of any service, just let me know."

"The best thing you could do for me is try to escape so I could have you _shot_."

Hogan frowned as Hochstetter turned away from him and hopped into his car. "Gee, a guy tries to help..."

"Roll call! _Roll call!_" Sergeant Schultz's loud voice boomed across the camp. Soon, the heavy guard was standing beside Hogan, who was watching Hochstetter's car race out the front gate. "Colonel Hogan—there is a roll call. Major Hochstetter's orders."

"Yeah, okay, Schultz," Hogan replied, still watching the Major's retreating vehicle.

"There is something wrong, Colonel Hogan?" asked Schultz.

"Nothing unusual," Hogan answered; "just Hochstetter's uncanny ability to ruin a perfectly good war."


	2. Chapter 2

No ownership of the _Hogan's Heroes_ characters is implied or inferred. Copyright belongs to others and no infringement is intended.

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"Did you get to make the calls before Hochstetter came back?" Hogan asked later.

Kinch nodded. "Sure did, Colonel. No more calls, everyone lies low."

"Good." Hogan crossed his arms, frustrated. "How can we run an intelligence operation if nobody can talk to each other?"

"It might not be long, Colonel," Carter suggested. "Hochstetter's usually gone in a few days."

Newkirk nodded agreement as he reached for a cigarette. "He's right, sir; if Hochstetter's radio detection truck doesn't pick up anything for awhile, he's bound to give up and go looking elsewhere."

"Yeah, I know," Hogan agreed reluctantly. He ran a hand along the back of his neck. "It's just that we've got so much going on at the moment. I really wanted to get a handle on that munitions depot before the Krauts have a chance to use anything in it. We'll have to make sure Dieter Schmidbauer convinces Friedrich Vogel to call him off."

"But how are we going to get word to him?" Kinch asked. "There's no way we can touch the radio now that the radio detection truck is here."

"I'll take care of that," Hogan answered shortly. He covered his mouth with his hand. _His pre-pacing gesture,_ Kinch thought to himself. But he was wrong this time; Hogan just stood in deep thought, then said, "And that whole set-up is delicate enough as it is."

"Mm, that _is_ a special one," Kinch agreed. "Too many interruptions because of people like Hochstetter and the whole set-up could be destroyed."

"But those meetings were set up by the _Abwehr_. That American working as one of them, Major Teppel, helped us put it all together himself," Le Beau countered. "Surely the _Boche_ old man is comfortable with Dieter by now."

"That's just it, Le Beau," Hogan agreed: "Vogel _is_ an old man. He lives and dies by consistency. Our friend Teppel has it organized: _Abwehr_ officially sanctions meetings between a bigwig in the Gestapo, and a bigwig in the _Abwehr_. That makes it comfortable for the old boy. Friedrich and Dieter meet every week. They tell the same stories, play the same card games, drink the same wine. They build up friendship, camaraderie, a mutual understanding of the way things should be, and a mutual disdain for the young ones who have taken over the reins. Vogel hands over information without ever realizing that he's actually working for the other side. Names, places, procedures. People to watch out for. _And people to warn._ It's a very fragile process, and it all depends on timing, and on trust. Hochstetter could blow it if everyone has to lie low for too long because of _him_, or if Dieter has to push too hard."

"That sure is a tough assignment," Carter observed. "I don't know if I could be that patient if _I_ was Dieter."

"It has been a long war. Vogel has time to spend now, and many judgments to make," Le Beau said.

Hogan nodded. "That's right. And it's Dieter's job to urge Friedrich to make those judgments while he's around."

Newkirk grinned. "And I'll bet it's not hard... once the wine comes out."

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"It is kind of you to treat me to this wonderful meal, Dieter," Friedrich said, gesturing to the modest dinner that, in the times they were living in, could almost be considered extravagant. "This is an unexpected pleasure."

Dieter smiled and nodded, pleased. "The pleasure is all mine, Friedrich," he replied, watching the patrons of the busy _biergarten_ laughing and talking. "I thought it was the least I could do after I polished off more than my fair share of that beautiful wine the other night." He sat back and gently patted his stomach. "Fine wine, fine food. An excellent combination, even if they are days apart."

Friedrich laughed. "Only you could think of it that way."

"I think of many things differently than other people."

"That I know for certain!" Friedrich agreed jovially.

Dieter's face took on a remorseful look. "My apologies again for missing our card game last week, Friedrich. I was unavoidably detained."

"Oh, I understand, Dieter." Friedrich chortled. "Payback for my doing the same to you recently myself." Dieter laughed and visibly relaxed, which pleased his companion. "Perhaps it is time for us both to retire." He smiled. "Coffee, my friend—this time it shall be _my _treat."

"That would be wonderful." Dieter put the last bit of potato into his mouth as Friedrich beckoned to a pretty waitress, then contentedly crossed his cutlery over the empty plate. "Something warm to ward off the cold night we are too soon to walk out into."

Friedrich ordered for the two of them and the young miss walked away. "We are such a unique pair," Friedrich observed suddenly.

Dieter chuckled. "What: two old men, sharing a meal? That's hardly unique, Friedrich."

Friedrich shook his head. "No, no," he said, smiling. "I mean our friendship. You, an old war horse, so mysterious, and yet so giving. And I—well, let's be honest: I am also an old war horse. But not so mysterious."

"But giving, Friedrich, definitely giving. And considering your work… well… I suppose that _is_ unique."

"Well, I do still keep my fingers in the pot. And it is true, that generosity is not one of the Gestapo's better-known traits," Friedrich admitted. "But we were not _all_ like that, you know. These young upstarts today—they make it hard for people to feel anything but fear for the State Secret Police."

"I believe that's the effect they are aiming for," Dieter noted.

"Oh, not like the _Abwehr_," Friedrich scoffed good-naturedly. "They are, of course, the high moral ground of the war. Like your friends in the _Luftwaffe_."

"I wouldn't go that far," Dieter replied. "But with the _Luftwaffe_, it is only the enemy in the air who needs to be afraid of us. Or enemies on the ground, in their little London hovels."

"And the enemies at home, Dieter," Friedrich pressed: "who is to look out for them? Someone needs to strike fear into their hearts. _That_ is what the Gestapo is for."

"Then you are in the wrong business, Friedrich; people who have met you could never be afraid of you. Your heart is too gentle, too soft, to be feared."

Friedrich smiled slyly. "That is why, my friend, enemies of the Third Reich—my enemies—die before they ever get this close."

Dieter smiled, almost to himself. It didn't escape Friedrich's notice. "What is amusing you, Dieter? Do you think I am too old to make such threats?"

Dieter shook his head, his smile broadening a little. "Not threats, Friedrich; coming from you, they are promises." Friedrich chuckled appreciatively. "No, I am thinking of your overly-enthusiastic Major—that Hochstetter," Dieter admitted.

"Him!" Friedrich snorted out a laugh.

Dieter nodded. "Yes, yes. He sees enemies in men already disarmed and in efficient camp Kommandants—men with no influence. Those who are plotting against him are probably working right beside him, but he is too busy fighting windmills."

"The Don Quixote of the Gestapo," Friedrich agreed. Dieter laughed out loud. "I understand he was out at Stalag 13 again last week. No doubt there was a stiff wind blowing there."

Dieter's grin widened. "So I'm led to believe." He paused as two steaming cups of coffee arrived at the table. _"Danke,_" he said to the waitress. She smiled and left the pair alone. "Hochstetter is actually becoming quite a nuisance, so I'm told," he resumed after a moment.

"Becoming?" Friedrich's playfulness subsided when he saw his friend no longer joining in. "Dieter, is there something I don't know about?"

Dieter's expression abruptly changed. "No, no," he said. "It's just that one of Hochstetter's reports got to Major Teppel after his most recent spy-hunt, and I had to spend an unreasonable—and very frustrating—amount of time explaining Hochstetter's delusions to him. He is upset that we have to spend time on such a useless man."

"He is not the only one," Friedrich declared. "Still, I see his point. Hochstetter had plans to head back to Stalag 13 this week. I will make sure that is stopped."

Dieter smiled. "Thank you, Friedrich. Now I _know_ you are a friend. No one wants Major Teppel annoyed with him, including myself."

"Let us forget about Hochstetter; he is not worthy of our evening. A night off from the paperwork, and a night away from the lunatics—that is what we deserve."

"I couldn't agree more."

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"It's terrific that Vogel is going to help keep Hochstetter away from here," Le Beau announced with a satisfied nod the next day in the barracks.

"Yeah—with Dieter telling him over and over again how off-base Hochstetter is, it's bound to sink in at some stage," Carter said. He scowled when the thread he was using to darn his sock seemed to become tangled.

Hogan arched an eyebrow as he reached for his coffee cup. "Yeah, well, right now we're lucky. Vogel trusts Dieter and we can take advantage of that. But we have to remember: Vogel is still Gestapo, and he's got plenty of influence. We don't know when he might just take Hochstetter at his word and tear this place apart looking for the great conspiracy."

"Thanks for the pep talk," Newkirk quipped.

Hogan finished pouring his coffee and put the kettle back on the stove. "Yeah, well, they didn't make me an officer so I could be head cheerleader."

"A little bit of optimism wouldn't _hurt_," Newkirk replied, "even if you're lying through your teeth."

"Look who's talking about optimism," Le Beau retorted good-naturedly: "Mister Here-Is-My-List-Of-Everything-That-Could-Go-Wrong."

Newkirk shrugged. "I can't help being a _bit_ of a realist," he said. "But I can be as positive as any of the rest of you lot."

"Don't get your pompoms out just yet, Newkirk," Kinch said from the door. "We've got company."

Hogan frowned. "Company?"

"Staff car. Heading to Klink's office." A pause. "Hochstetter."

Hogan made a face. "So much for Dieter's influence. We'd better find out what's going—"

"Wait, there's someone with him."

"_With_ him?" Hogan came to the door and peered through the crack. He stiffened. "Let's listen in."

"Who is it, Colonel?" Carter asked.

"Well, he's all in black with a nice skull and crossbones, so he's either the Gestapo or he's the Welcome Wagon from Hell," Hogan said as he headed to his office.

"Hochstetter has a friend?" Newkirk asked.

"I don't think he'd be Hochstetter's friend," Hogan said shortly. "A guy like that hasn't got anything but enemies. I hope."

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"Colonel Klink, this is _Gruppenführer_ Vogel," Hochstetter said with barely a nod in greeting toward the Kommandant. "He is here to help substantiate my suspicions about the unusual activity surrounding this camp."

Klink saluted the officer and frowned. "Unusual activity?" he echoed.

"Yes, Klink: the sabotage, the strange radio signals, the tanks and planes and cars that suddenly appear and disappear—those are unusual things, wouldn't you say?"

Klink tried to laugh. "But Major Hochstetter, all of those events had perfectly acceptable explanations—"

"Explanations, yes," Hochstetter said; "acceptable, no." He looked over at Vogel, then back at Klink. "You will give us full access to Stalag 13."

As Klink began to splutter a response, Vogel spoke up. "What the Major is trying to say, Colonel Klink, is that I would like to spend some time looking around your camp today, in order to see if the Gestapo should continue using Major Hochstetter here, or if his talents would be better used elsewhere." He looked at Hochstetter and smiled tolerantly. "As with all large organizations, the wheels of justice often turn quite slowly, and we would like to have the Major working with us on other projects as soon as possible. His enthusiasm for his work is an admirable quality that would be welcome in other areas."

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

Kinch grinned. "Boy, that Vogel's _good_," he said.

"Yeah, he's probably got Hochstetter thinking he's the best Gestapo man that ever existed," Newkirk said.

"_Oui_, but Hochstetter is too shallow-minded to realize that Vogel is making fun of him."

"Sh," Hogan said. "Let's listen."

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

"I want to start with Colonel Hogan," Hochstetter announced.

"Colonel Hogan?" Klink repeated.

"Yes." Hochstetter snarled. "That man is responsible for many unusual things, I am sure."

Klink laughed again. "But Major Hochstetter—_Gruppenführer _Vogel—Colonel Hogan is a very ordinary prisoner. Just a pilot shot down by our superior _Luftwaffe_ planes..."

But Vogel listened to Hochstetter. "We will start with Hogan. Please send for him, Colonel Klink."

At his superior officer's request, Klink acquiesced. "I will send for him. _Fraülein_ Helga!"

The secretary showed up at the door. "Yes, _Herr_ Kommandant?"

"Have Sergeant Schultz bring Colonel Hogan to my office at once!"

"_Jawohl_, _Herr_ Kommandant." And she was gone.

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

"This ought to be easy," Le Beau predicted. "Having Vogel question you will be like talking to your own grandmother!"

But Hogan wasn't convinced. "My grandmother never worked for the Gestapo," he replied.

"Gosh, I hope not," Carter said. "But I think what Louis means is—"

"Carter, I know what he meant. I'm just saying it's not going to be fun and games. One wrong word and Vogel won't be interested in taking Hochstetter out of here. I'd rather not speak to him at all."

"Why not, Colonel?" asked Kinch. "I mean—we know he's looking to debunk Hochstetter. Dieter says he's convinced Hochstetter is barking up the wrong tree. He's bound to take your answers at face value and then leave us alone."

"We'll see," Hogan said. "We'll see."


	3. Chapter 3

No ownership of the _Hogan's Heroes_ characters is implied or inferred. Copyright belongs to others and no infringement is intended. Copyright text, original characters and storyline belongs to L J Groundwater. Thanks.

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"Yes, Major, and when you and the Kommandant are done with your inspection of the camp, please do come back. I'm sure Colonel Hogan and I will be finished by then." Vogel watched Klink close the door behind the two men as they departed. Then he turned to Hogan. "Please, Colonel Hogan, sit down. This is to be an informal talk."

"Really?" Hogan asked. He hesitated, then sat, stiffly. "I'm not sure there's anything informal about the Gestapo interrogating a POW."

Vogel smiled and sat down behind Klink's desk. "Believe me, Colonel, this is not an interrogation. Not at all. I want to talk to you about Major Hochstetter."

"Does he need a job reference?" Hogan asked.

Vogel chuckled. "No, Colonel. It's just that the Major has some very interesting theories about this camp, and they all seem to center around you."

"Around me? I didn't think I was so popular with him."

"On the contrary, Colonel Hogan, he speaks of almost no one else."

"Must be a pretty boring conversation."

"I don't think so. If even half of what he says is correct, you are a most fascinating man."

"He must be talking about some other guy," Hogan said. "I'm not the fascinating type."

Vogel paused. Hogan waited. Finally, the German asked, "Tell me what you did before the war."

Hogan considered a moment before answering. "I was busy in the land of the free and the home of the brave."

Vogel nodded in seeming approval. "What did you _do_? What was your occupation?"

"Hogan, Robert E., Colonel, US Army Air Corps. Serial number—"

"Never mind," Vogel said, waving a hand dismissively. "Never mind, Colonel. I was merely curious. Major Hochstetter tells me you are a highly decorated pilot. I simply wondered if your career began before war broke out."

"You'll forgive me if I tell you that's none of your business," Hogan replied.

Vogel nodded courteously. "Of course. Tell me, Colonel: why does Major Hochstetter think you are so dangerous?"

Hogan shrugged. "Does he think that? Honestly?" Vogel didn't answer. "Sir, I'm not quite sure what you're fishing for, but you can ask anyone in camp—I was taken prisoner in July 1942, and I've been at Stalag 13 ever since I was assigned to a camp, and this is where I've stayed. That's all there is to it. Whatever the Major thinks I'm doing or being or directing, or whatever, is just a magnificent flight of fancy, and I wish I'd had that kind of imagination when I was trying to avoid being shot down—it might have saved me a couple of years of grief."

"Major Hochstetter is right in one regard, Colonel Hogan: you have an answer for everything." Hogan didn't reply or change his expression. "But I'm still curious as to why he thinks you are the most dangerous man in all of Germany, as I believe one of his reports declared."

Hogan raised an eyebrow. "Those reports must be terrific works of fiction," he said.

"Perhaps. Perhaps not."

"Look, _Gruppenführer_, what exactly do you want from me?"

"I want the truth."

"I gave it to you. Hochstetter's always picking on me, and quite frankly, it's getting a little old. He's fighting windmills."

The German paused for a moment, looked more closely at the American officer before him. "Have I seen you before?" he asked eventually.

"Maybe. If you've been here before. Or if you've been in Hammelburg when Hochstetter's dragged me into Gestapo Headquarters." Hogan paused to think. "_Or_ if you've been to Bridgeport, Connecticut!"

"No, I don't think so," Vogel answered, smiling softly and shaking his head. "No. There's just something about you..."

"I just have that kind of face, I guess. Must be what makes me so fascinating to Hochstetter. I'm certainly not your typical Aryan." Hogan smirked almost as an afterthought. "But then again, neither is _he_!"

"I think I've learned enough from you, Colonel Hogan," Vogel said, a smile of appreciation of Hogan's wit curving the corner of his mouth upward. "I thank you for your indulgence today."

"That's very gracious of you, _Gruppenführer_. Did I pass your test?"

"You are a fascinating man, Colonel Hogan, a fascinating man, indeed."

"I'd hate to disappoint."

"You haven't."

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

"What do you think, _Colonel_?" Le Beau asked when Hogan returned to the barracks.

Hogan shook his head. "I don't know. Dieter will find out. They're supposed to meet tomorrow. I'm sure he'll be able to find out what's on Vogel's mind."

"He seems like a pretty sharp character," Kinch observed.

"He is," Hogan agreed. "Let's just hope I was sharper."

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

"And _that_ is everything for the week!" Dieter announced with a smile. "Which leaves us just enough time this evening, my friend, for a game of _Klaberjass_."

"_Klaberjass!"_ Friedrich echoed. "You always win. I think you must count your cards twice!"

Dieter smiled at his friend's good-natured accusation. "I _did_ offer to take you up on _Schafskopf_, but you didn't like my adaption for two people—and you wouldn't bring your lovely granddaughter here to be our third!"

"Near an old scoundrel like you? Never. I cherish Ana's innocence too much to expose her to you." Friedrich chuckled.

"For that, I say you have impeccable, if regrettable, instincts."

Both men laughed heartily, then cleared the work aside from Friedrich's dining room table and settled in for a game. "You may be interested to know, Dieter, that I went to Stalag 13 myself this past week," Friedrich said as he began to deal.

"Really?" Dieter said, watching the cards carefully. "Don't tell me Hochstetter dragged you there." He looked at the card being turned up between them. Jack of spades. "Pass."

"Pass?" Friedrich said with a sigh. "You are going to win this again, aren't you?"

Dieter shrugged. "I don't like spades. Do you want it?"

"No. I suppose I do not like them, either. Pass." More cards were handed out. "No, Hochstetter did not _drag_ me to camp. I thought perhaps if he felt his theories were considered, and then discredited, that he would back off being so persistent."

"Hearts shall be trump," Dieter announced. Friedrich raised his eyes toward the ceiling. "I love hearts, Friedrich. They are so beautiful!"

"For you, perhaps," Friedrich replied. "You will be holding at least three in the highest sequence possible."

"I only hold what you have dealt me," Dieter replied. "So, I presume Stalag 13 will no longer be considered a—what did you call it?—'a hotbed of subversive activity,'" he said offhandedly. "Twenty."

Another sigh from his opponent. "Good," Friedrich replied to the number, acknowledging his opponent's higher sequence. "This game may be over quicker than the last!—Well, I don't know if I would believe that everything Hochstetter has to say is true... but I made it a point of meeting this 'very dangerous' Colonel Hogan, Dieter, and I must say, there's something about him..."

"What?" asked Dieter. "_What_ about him?"

"I'm not sure, but he's definitely not your ordinary prisoner of war."

"You are surely imagining it, Friedrich—an old man being swayed by the suggestions of that lunatic Hochstetter."

"Never."

"Not consciously, mind you; but certainly it cannot be. The Kommandant of that camp has a perfect record; there is nothing on Hogan's file that indicates he has even _tried_ to escape; the camp is near Hammelburg; many Underground units could be responsible for all that Hochstetter claims is being led by a prisoner, in an _impossible_ scenario."

"You did not meet him, Dieter; you cannot _know_. There is something about him..."

"_Pfeh."_

"Scoff if you like, but while I do not believe Hochstetter is precisely on target, I do not think he is as off-base as I once insisted upon. I will leave Major Hochstetter to his investigation, and I will follow up myself."

"When?"

"I'll be telling Hochstetter when I speak to him next week." A chuckle. "I did not want him to get too big-headed. So I told him—in front of Klink—that everything seemed fine and that the Major should be making only occasional routine visits from now on." Friedrich nodded. "That will give Stalag 13 a chance to get back to normal—Colonel Klink seems to get himself all wound up when the Gestapo is around. I will let him settle back in, so any activities that normally happen... may start to happen. And then I will send in Hochstetter."

"You are going to make my next meeting with Major Teppel most difficult," Dieter lamented.

"I am sorry, my friend. But I _do _have a job to do, after all." A triumphant smile. _"Bella."_

"_What?"_

"You heard me—_bella. _I believe, Dieter, that makes you _bête_, and I get to score... alone."

A groan from Dieter. "Now I have _two_ difficult things to cope with tonight."

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

"You're very late, sir," Kinch said as Hogan came into sight under the barracks.

"I am, but I see _you're_ still up," the Colonel answered, nodding toward the radio. "Anything happening I need to worry about?"

"No, sir; nothing. I was just... uh..."

"Waiting for me." Kinch shrugged, caught out. "Thanks, Mom, but I'm okay. I just got caught up."

"Right." Kinch smiled. "And you're filthy. Did everything go all right?"

"It went fine," Hogan replied; "but I'm worried that these people don't have enough know-how to be an independent Underground unit. _So_ I arranged for another group to adopt a few of them for awhile first to get them on their feet. Hence, I'm late." He glanced at his clothes. "I had to lay low for awhile getting back. Germans, you know. They're everywhere."

"I know; it's a real epidemic."

"Anything I need to know?"

"No, sir. Anything _we_ need to know?"

Hogan shrugged. "No. It's all in hand now. I've got some cleaning up to do," he said. "You go on up; I'll be along soon."

"All right. Good night, then."

"Good night."

Hogan pulled off his shirt as Kinch climbed the ladder, then wiped himself down with a nearby towel. When he finished pulling on his uniform shirt, he looked up, noted that Kinch had latched the bunk entrance above him, and sat down at the radio.

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

"Colonel Hogan."

A tiny groan. "Mm."

"Colonel Hogan." Kinch waved the flashlight a little more quickly in front of the closed eyes of his commanding officer.

Hogan squeezed his eyes shut even tighter, then moved his head irritably to get away from the insistent beam. "_Mmmm…_ what _is_ it, Kinch?"

"Sorry, sir," Kinch said, as Hogan reluctantly opened one eye. Kinch swung the beam so it wasn't directly in the Colonel's face any more, but still close enough not to let him slump back to sleep again.

"No, it's all right, it's all right," Hogan replied, propping himself up on one elbow and rubbing his face to try and become more alert. "It was just a really nice dream… for once."

Kinch nodded. "Sorry, Colonel," he said again. This time he let a smile slip onto his face.

"What time is it?"

"Two-fifteen. London's on the line, sir."

"Two-fifteen? What were you doing down in the tunnel so late?"

"Not me, sir," Kinch replied. He moved back as Hogan swung his legs over the side of the bunk and hopped down to the floor. "I just got _the shake_."

Hogan grabbed his bathrobe and wrapped it tightly around him. There had been a few days of cold sunshine, but it was still more than chilly down in the tunnel in the middle of the night. "Now if we could only get London to understand our opening hours," he retorted with a huge yawn. "Come on; let's go."

"Sorry, Colonel. You're solo this time; they want to talk to you alone."

Hogan favored Kinch with a baleful stare. "Thanks," he deadpanned.

"My pleasure. Don't mess with the switches."

The pair slipped past the sleeping prisoners of war spread around the common room of Barracks Two, and Hogan gave a slight shiver when he got to Kinch's raised-up bunk over the tunnel. "The shake" Kinch had talked about was one of Carter's inventions: a contraption that could be activated from the common room, rigged up to the radio below, to allow the radio to go unmanned as long as someone remained on the bunk above it; when a signal came through, the bunk would rattle hard enough to wake a sleeping man. The boys knew it worked; after all, it had even awoken Sergeant of the Guard Hans Schultz, who until then, they believed could actually sleep through the whole war.

"Shake when you want to come back up," Kinch said, then he watched Hogan descend.

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

Kinch knew better than to ask, when Hogan reappeared in the barracks; if London wanted to talk to him alone, then the Colonel wasn't going to want to share whatever they discussed. Still, the stony expression on Hogan's face worried the radio man, and he made an excuse of wanting to go check that Hogan had shut down the equipment properly, to get himself back downstairs to see if... well, he wasn't sure what. But maybe he could figure something out.

As he'd expected, Hogan had, for the most part, done well with the radio. But there were no notes or scraps of paper anywhere. So whatever had been said was going to remain with Hogan again. _Just as well,_ Kinch thought with a sigh; _I'm not supposed to be the CO, anyway._ He took a last look around the tunnel before heading up the ladder. _It's times like this I'm really glad I'm __**not**__._


	4. Chapter 4

No ownership of the _Hogan's Heroes_ characters is implied or inferred. Copyright belongs to others and no infringement is intended. Copyright text, original characters and storyline belong to LJ Groundwater. Thanks.

**Due to severe ff-dot-net issues a couple of weeks ago, I have no idea if anyone read or liked chapter 3... please let me know what you thought of it, too!**

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

"I'm going back out," Hogan announced abruptly the next evening.

"But Colonel, Klink's supposed to be doing a bed check tonight," Carter reminded him; "you know—the Iron Eagle. He's really been feeling superior since Vogel told Hochstetter—"

"Carter," Hogan stopped him with a word, and a look. "I have to go out. I'll be late." Then he looked at Kinch and added pointedly, "_Don't_ wait up. I'll be back in time for the bed check."

Kinch cleared his throat and looked down.

"If that's what you want, Colonel," Newkirk said uncomfortably.

"Is there something wrong with that, Corporal?" Hogan asked. "Do you think I won't make it back in time?"

"No, sir—no, no, it's not that, sir," the Englishman said quickly. "It's just that we worry when you go out on your own, sir. No one to watch your back... you know."

Hogan relaxed a little. "I know. And I appreciate your concern. But that's part of the job. Sometimes I have to go it alone."

"All right, gov'nor."

Hogan nodded. "All right."

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

"Dieter! What a pleasant surprise! I did not think we were meeting again until tomorrow night!"

Dieter smiled softly at his enthusiastic friend. "We were not. But I wanted to come earlier. Is it inconvenient?"

Friedrich opened the door to his home wider. "Not for you, my friend. Never. Please excuse my manners; do come in."

"You do not need to use fine manners with me, Friedrich. We have gone past all that now."

"I suppose we have," Friedrich admitted, moving further into the house. He frowned as he noticed his friend moving so much more slowly tonight. "Dieter, is your hip paining you this evening?"

Dieter smiled again, almost affectionately. "No more than usual. I'm just... slow. Age does that to a man."

"Not to you," Friedrich smiled. "Come. Sit. Drink! I shall get us some wine."

"Not tonight," Dieter answered.

"You are looking to revenge my solitary win at _Klaberjass_, is that it?" Friedrich chuckled. "Well, I suppose I must let you try; I will get the cards."

"No, Friedrich; not tonight," Dieter repeated. "We must talk."

Friedrich's lightheartedness left him. "Dieter? What is wrong?"

Dieter didn't speak.

"Your expression is so troubled, my friend. I should have seen it at once, and instead I have been rambling on like a teenaged girl. Please, sit and tell me what is bothering you."

Dieter's voice oozed unhappiness. "I can't stay."

"But—then—why have you come?" Friedrich asked.

Dieter looked around the room as though he was searching for something. Finally, he said, "I have orders."

"Orders?"

"Are we alone?"

"Yes, Dieter, yes. Please, you are worrying me. Please talk to me."

"We can't meet any more, Friedrich."

At this, Friedrich smiled. "So, no more talk about work. We can still get together to play cards and share an evening. Don't think the Gestapo can control who my friends are. You worry over nothing!"

But Dieter shook his head. "No, Friedrich. This is the last time we shall meet. I... I am working for the Allies, and you and I can no longer be friends."

Friedrich's face registered shock as he tried to comprehend what his friend was saying. "You are working for the—oh, Dieter, you are trying to _fool_ me!"

"No, Friedrich. I am not. And I have orders, orders that are not coming from the _Abwehr_, but from London."

"London! But Dieter—Dieter, you—"

"There is no Dieter, Friedrich." The man reached up and peeled back what Friedrich now realized was a beautiful, perfect wig of grey hair, revealing dark hair underneath. Suddenly Friedrich's friend looked younger, his eyes took on a sharper, more alert look. And as he now stepped closer, Friedrich realized that his friend's worrisome limp was absent. His eyes widened in recognition.

"You're—you're—" Friedrich spluttered, stunned.

The voice was now different as well—richer, more youthful; and the accent, foreign. "I'm Colonel Hogan. I'm an officer in the United States Army Air Corps and head of a sabotage and espionage unit operating out of Stalag 13."

"B-But Dieter—"

"It's _Hogan_, Friedrich," said Hogan. "There's never been a Dieter Schmidbauer. Not a real one, anyway. The Allies needed to get information and they thought the best way was going to be through you. We've been using you to get vital information to protect people in the Underground and our own operation."

Hogan's eyes visibly saddened as Friedrich struggled to make sense of what was happening. "But you were my _friend_, Dieter…" the German faltered.

"That's true, Friedrich," Hogan admitted. "_Dieter Schmidbauer_ really was. But _Robert Hogan_ can't afford to be." He paused as he watched Friedrich wrestle with his new reality, and despite all his inner warnings to the contrary, he couldn't help but explain. "I never expected to like you so much, Friedrich. I had a job, pure and simple, and I was supposed to remain detached and do it. But playing chess, having dinner, talking by the fire… you became a friend, even though I couldn't tell you about myself."

"And now?"

"And now…" Hogan pursed his lips as an unfocused prayer flitted through his mind. "Do you remember one night when you said I was full of mystery, and that one day you would learn my secrets?"

Friedrich nodded uncertainly.

"Well, now you know them. You were about to let Hochstetter loose on us, and that would put my men and countless others in peril." Hogan took a steadying breath and continued quietly, "I said to you at the time that when my secrets came out, one of us would be dead." He paused. "I have a job to do, an important one, for the Allies… so I'm afraid it can't be me."

In the few seconds it took for Friedrich to process what he had been told, Hogan's pistol came out, primed and aimed directly at him. "Dieter—Robert Hogan—please—"

"I'm sorry, Friedrich. Orders are orders, and I have to obey. Believe me… of everything I've ever said to you, this is the absolute truth: I'm sorry. I wish to God this didn't have to be… but it does."

Hogan swallowed hard, praying in vain to God that something would just happen that would make this step unnecessary. Even as he looked at the gun in his hand he felt a chill run through him, and an almost overpowering desire to simply run away—or to take Friedrich with him, hide him in the tunnel, and then negotiate with G-2 to send the old man back to England. Could he get away with disobeying his superiors in London? Then he reminded himself he was a soldier following orders, abruptly told Friedrich to turn around and face the wall, and it was over.

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

With the look on Hogan's face inviting no conversation, talk was muted and brief the next morning. Hogan came out of his office for roll call, but looked at no one and caused none of his normal mischief with Klink. His men, asleep when he had returned last night, knew that they could say nothing now; even Carter, normally unflappable in the face of someone who didn't want company, stayed away, watching worriedly from a discreet distance.

Eventually, it was Newkirk who was brave enough to speak up. "You all right, gov'nor?" he asked matter-of-factly, as they stood against the wall outside the barracks, watching the activity in the compound.

"Fine," Hogan answered brusquely, his arms still tightly crossed in front of him. He focused on a prisoner catching a ball far across the yard.

"Well, that's _good_, sir," Newkirk continued casually; "very good."

"Yeah," Hogan answered. Then he pulled himself away from the wall and disappeared back into the building.

Newkirk frowned, stubbed out his cigarette, and went back inside.

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

"Sir, London's on the line."

Hogan turned smoldering eyes toward Kinch at the announcement. "What do they want?"

The anger in his voice stunned the radio man. "They want to talk to you," Kinch said hesitantly. "Privately, sir. And right now."

"Of course," Hogan spat out. "'Jump, Hogan.' 'How high?' No dissent allowed. Orders are orders—" Hogan cut himself off abruptly when Kinch's startled expression caught his eye. He let out a short breath. "Tell them I'm coming."

"Yes, sir."

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

Hogan punched the latch to the tunnel on the bunk so hard Carter jumped from his seat at the table, where he was playing cards with Newkirk. "Everything okay in London, Colonel?" he asked. Kinch shot him a warning look, too late.

"Fine," Hogan answered sharply as the bunk fell back into place. "They couldn't be happier. Everything is exactly the way they want it."

"I detect a bit of sarcasm in there," Le Beau ventured carefully.

"No, Le Beau—I'm telling you straight: London's delighted." But the anger didn't leave Hogan's voice.

"Oh." A pause. "It just seemed to be... bad news, _Colonel_."

"No—everything's just as it should be." At this, Hogan pulled himself up short. "I'm sorry I've been a bit... edgy today. I'm just trying to get something straight in my head."

"Anything we can help with, Colonel?" asked Kinch.

Hogan shook his head. "No, Kinch—just a—" He stopped, seemed to regroup. "—a disagreement between me and London."

Carter smiled conspiratorially. "Well, that's nothing new," he declared. "They'll see it your way eventually, Colonel."

"Not this time, Carter." Suddenly it was abundantly clear that Hogan's mind wasn't even in the room with them and he seemed to be dying to get away. "I'll be in my quarters."

As he crossed the room, Newkirk offered, "Colonel, if you're up to it later, I'll teach you how to play a new card game Schultz showed me last night. I'm just showing Carter here now."

"How do you know he's teaching you the right way?" Kinch asked Carter. "I don't know if _I'd_ trust you, Newkirk."

"Is that any way to talk to a friend?" Newkirk feigned offense. "Anyway, gov'nor, I'd be pleased to show you. It's a bit finicky, but it would probably appeal to your strategic mind. It's called _Klaberjass_."

Hogan felt his throat tighten. "That game's for old men, Newkirk," he managed. "But thanks all the same."

Then he hurried back to his room and closed the door, to be alone with London's unwanted congratulations, and his private grief.

_Fin_

Please note: this story is the result of a brainstorm that came after I read one of **Zoey Traner's** stories that had the following quote from Hogan in it: "Flying bombers isn't the only thing I've done for my country. My men don't know _all_ the missions I'm given. _You_ don't know how many times I've deliberately used my gun to end someone's life."

Feb 18, 2009


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